


Patience is a virtue; virtue is a mug's game

by wolfinthethorns



Category: Jekyll and Hyde (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinthethorns/pseuds/wolfinthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a bit in episode 4, just before Captain Dance goes to chat Hils up, where there's a close up on his face and it looks for all the world like he's trying to dislodge a pube from between his teeth. That's because he totally was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience is a virtue; virtue is a mug's game

Morning in the warehouse was already a bustle of activity, despite the early hour. Silas’ gang had worked through the night to complete the ritual circle that would soon hold Hyde and bend him to Tenebrae’s will; yet still it was not finished, and tempers were running high. The men bickered and groused among themselves, venting their resentfulness with snide comments they hope went unheard by their employer, fearfully aware of the gristly consequences of disloyalty.

 

The small overseer’s office in the corner provided some respite at least from the racket, if not the heat and the dust. Fedora leant over the battered desk, examining the plans for the circle, running her finger over the pattern of sigils that would be marked in the bone dust to activate it. She drummed her fingers over the final mark, frowned, and went over the alchemical equation scribbled on the edge of the paper again. The whole design had been a rush, made necessary by Silas’ latest cock-up with that Hope woman: Hyde was getting wise, Tenebrae command were getting impatient, the need to corner Hyde and open the Calyx had become considerably more urgent. The whole thing felt dangerously half-cocked, not least because for this type of circle to function at it’s highest potential the ash really ought come from human bones, but alas it seemed that Silas’ goons did have lines they were unwilling to cross. When ordered to start robbing graves, a third had threatened to quit, and most of the remainder had demanded ‘danger money’ that they simply did not have the campaign funds to pay. In the absence of alternatives, Captain Dance had been forced to compromise. Fedora had faith in her beloved Captain; he had many centuries more experience in necromancy than she, and if he was satisfied that animal bones would suffice, she would not doubt him. But still, something niggled…

 

Behind her, the office door clicked open and shut, and the blinds swished closed. She did not look around, only one person would dare disturb her without knocking first; sure enough moments later, Dance’s strong arms wrapped around her waist as he pressed himself against her back, nuzzled her neck and planted a quick succession of gentle kisses behind her ear.

“Not disturbing you, am I?” he purred between kisses.

“You’re always disturbing, it’s why I like you,” she replied with a smile, cocking her head to give him better access, “Are you bored by any chance?”

“Whatever gives you that impression?” he murmured, lips barely leaving her skin as the kisses became more insistent. His hand slid up to cup her breast.

“Oh,” she sighed happily, “maybe the fact that you’ve given up on supervising the minions to come in here and be a…”

“Pain in the neck?” Dance interrupted, before attacking her neck with playful bites. Fedora gasped with delight and surprise before bursting into giggles. Stifling her laughter with the back of her hand, she tried, albeit with little real intent, to free herself from his onslaught, but he held her fast until laughter overcame him, too. As his grip loosened, Fedora shifted in his embrace to look at him over her shoulder.

“I was going to say nuisance,” she said, stroking his cheek, “Won’t  the mark be arriving soon?”

Dance took her hand, kissed her palm, and shuffled her sleeve back to examine her wristwatch, “She’s expected oh-nine-thirty, so… I’ve still got a little time to kill,” he kissed her palm and her wrist again, “What can I say, I’m not a man who likes to be kept waiting,” he added with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“They say patience is a virtue” smirked Fedora, turning to face him.

“And virtue is a mug’s game,” Dance retorted archly.

She gave him a gentle, affectionate peck of a kiss on the tip of his long nose, and then a rather less gentle, but no less affectionate kiss on the mouth. Dance moaned happily, deepening the kiss as Fedora ran her hands through his hair, letting his own hands roam up and down her back.

 

As the kiss broke, Dance caught sight of what Fedora had been working on before he’d come in. He sighed a little tiredly, and pulled away slightly to meet her eye.

“Still fretting?” 

Fedora glanced down, taking a breath to start justifying herself, but Dance caught her chin gently with thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up again back to his gaze.

“Now come, my love,” he smiled, “we’ve got this. The circle isn’t perfect, granted, but it’s good enough. We’ve got a solid plan that doesn’t rely on Silas and his merry band of dipsticks. What could possibly go wrong?” 

Fedora pouted, and frowned, and took his hand away from her face, “Please don’t tempt fate like that.” She twined her fingers with his, pulling him close again.

“Not getting superstitious on me, are you?” he teased.

“It’s a Transylvanian thing,” she huffed, pulling him in for another kiss, “Can’t be helped...”

 

Affection grew to passion now, their kisses becoming rougher, hungrier, tongues and hands exploring. Dance’s long-fingered hands caressed her back and hips, waist and thighs, claiming his territory. Fedora traced his shoulderblades, kneading the muscle through the stiff wool of his uniform. She knew where her her touches would still be felt, where they would not exacerbate the pain of decay, and focussed her attentions there.  Biting on his bottom lip elicited a rough groan of desire from her lover; Fedora trailed butterfly kisses across his cheek, to nip and kiss his jawline, and then on to the narrow strip of exposed throat above his collar. Dance let her lead, humming with pleasure that became a hiss of  _ oh yes _ as she paid particular attention to an exquisitely sensitive spot just behind his ear. Licking and kissing that sweet spot, running her fingers through the short, velvety hairs at the nape of his neck, Fedora smiled to herself in satisfaction as she felt Dance, normally so controlled and commanding, relax into her touches. But Dance was not one to cede control for long; Fedora gasped as she suddenly found herself pushed back against the desk, her wrists held firmly behind her. Not that she had any complaint: the trust this man, this wonderful, powerful, dangerous man put in her melted her dark heart, but when he just  _ took _ her like that, oh it set her heart ablaze. And the predatory smile he gave her, all desire and sin, before he took her mouth again sent a rush of heat to other parts of her anatomy, as well. 

 

Pinning her against the desk, never breaking the kiss, Dance released Fedora’s wrists so he could occupy his hands with her breasts. She arched into him, purring her approval as his thumbs grazed over her nipples. Even through layers of wool and silk, his touch felt electric. His thigh had become pressed between her legs - as much as her long dress would allow - giving her just enough friction and pressure to be frustrating, but not quite satisfying. Reaching under the hem of his jacket, she grasped his firm backside, she tried to pull him closer, but to no avail. All it achieved was to make her more aware that they were both wearing too many clothes, and of Dance’s own arousal, hard against her thigh. She wanted him, oh how she wanted him, and from the ragged sound of his breathing against her neck, she was in no doubt the feeling was mutual. She moved to address this need, but as her fingers brushed his fly, he gripped her wrist, stopping her. A disappointed whimper escaped her lips. He did not respond to her displeasure nor loosen his grip, but rested his forehead to hers for a moment, regaining his composure, before gently lifting her arm to look at her wristwatch again.

“Bugger,” he sighed, shifting his grip to hold her hand, “Seven minutes.” 

Fedora quirked an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Oh give me some credit,” he laughed, and shook his head, “And more to the point I’d rather not  be too dishevelled when I go to charm Hockeysticks.”

Fedora pouted, “That’s cruel of you, getting me all worked up then leaving me wanting.”

“You love it when I’m cruel,” he said with a sly grin, and kissed her hand.

“I love  _ you _ .” She gazed at him a moment, thinking, then with a wicked smirk added “Sixty eight and I’ll owe you one?”

“You’re on.” He kissed her forehead, “Because I love you.”

 

In a swift, easy motion, Dance scooped Fedora up in his arms, and sat her down on the desk. She bit her lip, quivering with anticipation as he ran his hands down her thighs, lingering to enjoy her shape. Her breath quickened as his hands dipped under the hem of her dress, now only the thin silk of her stockings between them, as he caressed his way back up, pushing the skirt up and out the way. All the while, his dark gaze never left hers, a serpent hypnotising it’s prey, savouring her reaction. He was well rewarded when his fingertips grazed along the skin that bounded the tops of her stockings, as her eyes closed and she sighed with delight. He dipped his thumbs into her underwear to pet the soft hair of her mons; this earned him an arch of her back, and a growled “I thought we were short of time?”

“Whatever happened to patience?” he teased. Fedora swatted his arm,  _ mostly _ playfully, before shifting her weight to allow him to better push her skirt out the way, and tug her knickers down and off. Meeting her eye again, he gave her an evil little smirk, wagged an eyebrow, and dropped to his knees to dip his head between her legs. Fedora rolled her eyes, laughing, and was halfway through calling him a ridiculous man when the sensation of his lips on her inner thigh made a gasp steal her words away. 

 

Soft lips and sharp teeth and the slight tickle of his moustache excited her already sensitised skin. She could feel her pulse twitch in the already engorged flesh between her legs, the first rumble of a storm yet to come. When he moved to taste her, she gave up on trying to hold herself upright and lay back, a sacrifice on the altar, submitting to his touch. Even pushed for time, he would not rush, he would enjoy the control he had over her, and so would she. He began slowly, teasing and exploring her folds, circling and sucking her clit, the motion of his tongue and lips echoing the kisses that had come before. His hands, warm and dry, kneaded her thighs and hips, stroked her legs where they draped over his shoulders. A long, slow lick that ended with a flick of the tip of his tongue made her hips buck; he did it again, faster, and again, making her writhe and gasp. She reached for his hand, knotting their fingers together when she found it. Gentle touches became more assertive, more forceful; she wanted to move with him, but his firm grip kept her pinned to the desk. He dipped his tongue into her, his nose rubbing her sensitive clit, and she fought the urge to cry out, frustratedly aware of the people outside the little office. A glorious tension grew in her belly, heat pooling and radiating out, making her skin slick. She tangled her fingers in his hair, short nails raking his scalp. Tugging at his hair drew a groan out of him, and she wasn’t sure if it was the sound or the vibrations that turned her on so much, winding the tension in her belly that little bit tighter so she trembled with desire. Now Dance went in for the kill, releasing her hip to slide one, then two fingers inside her slick entrance, sucking and flicking her clit with his tongue, winding her tighter and tighter… It was unbearable, exquisite torture; Fedora’s back arched against her will, her toes curled, her hand gripped his so tightly her knuckles were white. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps. And just as it all became too much, Dance crooked his fingers to press on on that most intimate spot inside of her, and the tension burst like thunder. Waves of contractions, peels of pleasure shook through her; she would have cried out, but there was not enough air in her lungs to give her voice. And he did not stop, staying with her orgasm until the tremors began to subside, not pulling away until her hands went loose in his hand, his hair, and she lay still, loose limbed and panting. 

 

They stayed like that a moment, she laid still as sleeper, he kneeling at his lady’s feet, head rested on her thigh, aware of no world but each other. The sound of commotion outside the office door, culminating in a “G’won then boss!” brought Dance back to the moment.

“What?” he snapped. There was a tentative knock at the door. “What?” he barked, louder, annoyed.

“Er, can I come in?” came Silas’ voice through the door.

“No!” Dance snarled. Fedora gave a sleepy  _ hrrmm? _ and sat up slowly.

“Er… we’ve just had the call that ‘Ockeysticks has left home… she’ll, er, be arriving any minute.”

“Right,” sighed Dance, “I’ll be there in a moment,” and he pulled himself to his feet. As Fedora climbed off the desk and rearranged her dress into a more respectable form, Dance dusted off the knees of his trousers, and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 

“Not too dishevelled, am I?” he asked.

Fedora smoothed his hair, and his moustache, and studied him for a moment, “Not at all. Gorgeous as always. Am I?”

“No, and likewise.” He smiled and took her arm, “Shall we?”

 

Outside the office, Silas stared resolutely at the floor, holding Dance’s cap and gloves. He neither spoke, nor risked eye-contact as he handed them to his commanding officer. Over his head, Dance and Fedora shared a knowing, if amused, look. 

“Well, showtime then,” said Dance, cheerfully.

Fedora straightened his tie, “Knock ‘em dead.”

“No,” he retorted, “that’s later.” With that, he gave her a chaste little kiss on the cheek, winked, and putting on his hat strode away. Fedora and Silas watched him leave, or at least, Fedora did: Silas’s gaze remained fixed on the dusty floor. 

“How are you and the Seeing Toad getting along, Silas?” she asked, her tone innocent but smirking wickedly, “Has it shown you anything… interesting… yet?”

Silas made a strangled noise, “Can’t say I’ve had much time to practice with it yet miss,” he muttered, “I, er… I got things to attend to ‘scuse me…”, and with that he scuttled off. Fedora sniggered to herself. What were minions for, if not for taunting now and again?

 

Captain Dance stepped out into the warm morning air just as the car he was expecting pulled up outside of Utterson’s office. A petite, dapperly dressed woman got out, and started to unload files from the back seat. Dance smiled to himself - the hunt was on - but as he smiled something between his teeth tickled his tongue. Was that?... He explored the sensation some more… It was, and there was no way he could dislodge it subtlety. Well, that was distracting. Still, it did add a certain self-satisfied swagger to his step and Captain Dance crossed the street to casually bump into his new neighbour.


End file.
